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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23112988">Blueberry Confession</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_24/pseuds/Agent_24'>Agent_24</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fair Game Week 2020 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>RWBY</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Birds, Blood and Injury, Confessions, M/M, Shapeshifting, fairgameweek2020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:00:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23112988</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_24/pseuds/Agent_24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Clover gets to talking to an injured crow as he nurses it back to health.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Fair Game Week 2020 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661305</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>227</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Blueberry Confession</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Day 4: Birds/Soulmates</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The bird crashes into the side of the transport, just shy of Clover’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck!” he exclaims in surprise, leaping away on reflex, which sends most of his colleagues into fits even as they curiously peek over to see what caused the commotion. Clover settles back on both feet before he stoops over the tiny body on the ground, then crouches beside it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It looks like a crow, bigger than a songbird but not overly large, tar black feathers streaked with faint gray. It’s still alive, but barely clinging to consciousness, wings fluttering desperately and its breath ragged. In the evening light, Clover can see a tacky red staining its breast feathers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it bleeding?” one of the soldiers asks, peering over Clover’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so,” Clover answers, reaching out slowly. “Poor thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crow squawks weakly. Clover withdraws, then tries again, shushing it gently. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he murmurs, and when the squawking quiets to soft, pained caws, he smooths his fingers over its head. “That’s it, c’mere.” He carefully scoops the bird into his hands, noting the way it holds one of its wings stiffly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you going to do with it?” another soldier asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get it some water first, I guess,” Clover says. “Feed it something if I can. If its wing is broken, I’ll take it to the vet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, good luck,” the soldier says with a teasing salute, which earns more laughter from the patrol group. Clover flashes a grin and heads into the academy, taking the shivering bird up to his room to get it warm. With luck (ha) he can share a little of his aura with it to heal its wounds, but if the wing is snapped, it’ll have to be set first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gonna be just fine,” he says to it, hoping his tone is soothing even if it can’t understand the words. The crow caws softly again, tiredly blinking half-lidded red eyes at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s smart, that’s for sure. Clover smiles and carefully shifts the bird into one of his arms while he punches in his room code. Inside, he takes the bird into the bathroom, setting it on the sink and pulling off his gloves. He wets a clean cloth in the sink, then carefully picks the bird back up and lays it back against his arm to wipe at the bloody feathers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bird only squawks again at the sting, wings flapping before it winces and goes still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know,” Clover soothes. “Bear with me. Almost done, then we’ll see if I can’t fix you up a little.” He wrings the rag out, frowning as he watches blood-pink water run down the drain, then tries to peek beneath the mussed feathers. The bird is still breathing heavily, which makes the injury across its little chest look even worse than it is. The wound seems to be healing at least, the blood already clotting healthily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover’s brows knit as he tries to think of what might’ve done this. Those claw marks look familiar, but he can’t seem to make sense of the size of the wound. They almost look like they belong to Grimm, but no Grimm has paws that tiny. What, did Grimm come in squirrel size, now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonder what happened to you,” he mutters, more to himself than the crow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the bird clean now, Clover pulls a few of his shirts out of his drawers and makes a messy, makeshift nest on his bed. The bird winces at all the movement, lets out a little annoyed chatter as he moves to set it down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he apologizes, but the crow just blinks, apparently having lost interest in him. Its feathers fluff as it settles into his shirts, exhaustion made apparent as it immediately closes its eyes with a quiet rumbling sound from its throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover smiles and carefully brushes his finger over its beak. The crow opens its eyes again, but doesn’t snap at him. Instead, it almost seems to hesitate before nuzzling against the touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says gently, pushing a little bit of his aura into his fingers, green light shimmering along his skin as he passes it on. “I was looking forward to dinner with my new partner today.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bird lets out a racketing coo that almost sounds like a laugh. Clover grins, then brightens even more as the bird’s aura starts gathering along its feathers in specks of shimmering red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which, now that he’s thinking about it, is a little weird. It’s almost like the bird’s aura was shattered, but that’d be ridiculous. A shatter would mean the little thing had aura training, and…and this is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bird.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover shakes his head at himself and strokes the bird’s head again, still feeding it energy. At least it doesn’t seem afraid of him. He nudges a few of its chest feathers aside, peeking at the wound and finding it healing a little slower than he’d like, so he amps his aura up, green light shining over his whole hand now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bird caws softly and leans into it, closing its eyes again. It’s breathing has returned to normal and it tucks its injured wing against its body. If it’d been fractured, it was likely a small one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Clover says in relief. “We don’t wanna keep you from your family too long, do we?” He tilts his head, curious and feeling his aura weakening. “You sure have a big aura reserve for something your size.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another of those cooing laughs. Clover grins and stays there a little longer, then says, “Alright, pretty bird, you stay there a bit. I’m gonna get you some food and water. How’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bird caws, feathers fluffed again like it’s preening. It sounds leagues better now, and Clover feels a little bit of pride at his miniscule nursing skills.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He searches for what crows eat on his Scroll and finds the answer is literally anything, so he brings it a bowl of water and some blueberries. It eats and drinks like it’s starving, and Clover can’t help smoothing out-of-place feathers back while the bird sates its appetite. The feathers are soft and pleasant against his knuckles, and the bird clicks quietly every so often like it enjoys the attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should’ve told Qrow about you,” Clover says aloud. “But maybe assuming a guy knows a lot about birds because of his name is kind of rude.” He grins at his charge. “What do you think?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A chitter, like a chuckle. Bright red eyes meet his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would’ve been nice to see him tonight, anyways,” Clover says with a sigh, talking to himself now more than the bird. He hasn’t really talked to anyone about what he’s feeling for Qrow yet; maybe the affection in his chest has just been trapped too long with no outlet, because it sort of just rushes out of him now that there’s a listening ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe the fact that it’s a bird and has no clue what he’s saying helps, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s just…amazing,” Clover mutters. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like him.” He sighs and lays back on the bed, folding his hands behind his head. The bird tilts its head at him, a blueberry in its beak. “I mean…he’s a great Huntsman, don’t get me wrong. Leagues above most I’ve ever seen. But even beyond that, I just…can’t stop thinking about him. He’s so brilliant and levelheaded, but he’s</span>
  <em>
    <span> fun,</span>
  </em>
  <span> too.” He groans, then lifts a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Did I mention he’s just…utterly gorgeous? The amount of brain power it takes for me to say anything clever in front of him is ridiculous. But he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful.</span>
  </em>
  <span> His eyes…” he trails off, then huffs a laugh at himself, as if remembering he’s talking to an animal. He glances at the crow again, finding it hunched down in his shirts with its feathers puffed out so much, it looks more sphere than avian. He smooths the feathers down again. “They’re like rubies. Just like yours, actually. Hey, are you out of berries?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bird lets out a little squawk, high pitched. Somehow, with the way it half hides its face behind its wings, it almost looks embarrassed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover feeds it more berries and cleans up. Then, because it’s late, he scoops the bird up, shirts and all, and sets the little nest on his coffee table. “Are you going to make a mess of my room while I’m sleeping?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It chitters. Clover snorts, petting its beak one more time. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heads for the shower, whistling to himself as his thoughts flick between the crow and his Qrow, from lingering worry for the creature’s wing to fluttering affection for the man. He’ll see Qrow tomorrow for breakfast in the mess hall, he supposes, if the bird is better in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He means to check on its wing when he gets out of the shower, but by time he exits the bathroom with a towel tied around his waist, it’s asleep, beak tucked underneath its wings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. The impromptu rescue went better than he’d anticipated. Hopefully, he thinks as he pulls on underwear and climbs into bed, his aura will have healed the bird by morning, and he can turn it loose. If not, he’ll take it to the vet first thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover starts slowly bleeding into consciousness a few moments before his alarm goes off the next morning. In his half-asleep state, he could almost swear he feels a hand comb through his hair. When the alarm finally goes off, Clover rubs his eyes and sits up groggily, and is immediately met with frigid air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fully awake now, he turns to find his window open. That explains the cold, but he’s certain it was shut when he went to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, as he looks towards the coffee table, the bird is gone, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell?” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck. He climbs out of bed to shut the window and looks around his room, but the bird is nowhere to be found, and nothing remains of it except the blood stained cloth Clover left in the hamper the night before, and a black feather left behind in his pile of shirts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He throws the shirts in with his dirty clothes and leaves the feather on his table.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“Morning,” Clover greets cheerfully in the mess hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qrow jumps and whirls, apparently startled. “Morning,” he squeaks, his cheeks steadily turning beet red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover stops short, brows knitting. “Are you alright? You look a little feverish. You’re not sick, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m fine,” Qrow says quickly, though his face is only turning an even darker shade. “How’d you sleep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I slept alright,” Clover shrugs. “Despite my little guest. Last night a bird crashed into my transport and hurt its wing. That’s why I wasn’t in the mess hall for dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I figured,” Qrow coughs, then blurts, “I mean—! I figured you were busy. Not that you were with a bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover tilts his head and stares at him. “You sure you’re alright?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just…” Qrow trails off, clearly flustered, and rubs the back of his neck. “Just had a rough patrol yesterday, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe nursing the bird back to health has left Clover with some mothering tendencies, but his eyes immediately flit over Qrow’s form to look for some visible sign of injury. “Are you hurt?” he asks, taking a step closer and reaching out before he catches himself and stops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not anymore,” Qrow says, then clears his throat, shoulders hunched. “Um—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure?” Clover presses. “What about your aura?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qrow blinks, then chews his lip and looks away. “It’s…still a little low, to be honest. Nothing Jaune can’t fix.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover hesitates. “If you’re really sure,” he says after a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure,” Qrow nods. He shifts his weight, sticking his hands in his pockets. Clover can’t help feeling a little startled at his demeanor; Qrow hasn’t acted this way around him since their mission in the mines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is…something else wrong?” he tries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Qrow flushes all the way down his throat. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, and it comes out a little raspy. “Can we talk later? I…uh…” He pauses, apparently noticing the concern on Clover’s face change into something a little more anxious, then closed off. “I just wanted to talk about one of my…abilities.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover blinks, then relaxes. It should probably bother him, how much tension that one vague request put in his shoulders. “Oh,” he says, feeling foolish. “Sure. Is this about your semblance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not exactly,” Qrow mutters. He’s avoiding Clover’s eyes again, and that dark flush is still present on his face. Clover tries to make sense of what could be embarrassing him and fails. Maybe his semblance has been acting up badly, and he just doesn’t want to say so? They’d talked about finding a charm for him before, to help with directing it, but…maybe poor emotions had made it flare up?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You going to be alright until we get off work?” he asks gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qrow nods. He opens his mouth to say something else, only to be interrupted by the faint chime of Clover’s earpiece. Clover sighs, pressing a finger to it and turning away to answer. “This is Clover,” he answers, then frowns sharply as he starts getting details about a transport in need of backup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have support for you ASAP,” he says. “Clover out.” He turns back to Qrow apologetically, jerking his thumb towards the door. “So much for breakfast. I’ve gotta go handle this. Promise me you’ll see Jaune before you head to pick up any patrols?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qrow finally gives him a smile, and Clover feels his mood brighten. Qrow nods and promises, “I will, don’t worry,” and Clover throws him a casual salute as he takes off out the door.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Work doesn’t slow down till that evening—again—and Clover has retreated to his room in a tired daze before he remembers he was supposed to talk to Qrow. Rubbing his temples and nursing a slight headache, he pulls out his Scroll to message him and finds one already waiting, sent a half hour ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Admittedly, seeing Qrow’s name in his inbox sends a little flutter to his heart, only made worse when the message ends up reading, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Can we meet by your dorm?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallows, glances around his room and is glad to find it’s cleaned up (of course it is, when he hasn’t been back all damn day), then sends back, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sure, I’m there now, </span>
  </em>
  <span>along with his room number. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, because he’s a fool with a terrifying kind of affection budding in his chest and growing worse by the day, he runs to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth and make sure his hair looks halfway decent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A knock at his door startles him. Clover takes a deep breath and smooths his uniform down, suddenly wishing he’d changed out of it, then opens the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qrow, for what it’s worth, looks just as flustered as before, and probably isn’t paying much attention to what Clover’s wearing. “Hey,” he says after a moment, sheepish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Clover returns fondly, some of his anxiety washing away just at the sight of Qrow’s face. “Come in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qrow nods and steps past the doorway, pausing to look around the room with furrowed brows. “This looks…different,” he says with a sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he admits. “I mean…I definitely don’t complain about getting a room to myself, but…it is a little big.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qrow chuckles, though it doesn’t really carry full humor. “Not exactly what I meant,” he says, hands in his pockets again. He’s slouching. Clover blinks, unused to Qrow being so aloof.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” he asks, hoping for a more truthful answer this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Qrow says, then exhales slowly and combs his fingers through his bangs. “I mean…yeah. This is just a little complicated to explain. Maybe you should sit down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Qrow,” Clover tries, and reaches out for him again. He can’t seem to stop doing that. “You’re scaring me a little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qrow finally meets his eyes, and much to Clover’s shock, reaches out to take and squeeze his hand. “I promise, it’s not bad,” he says, soothing. “It’s just…a lot. Sit, please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover studies his face, still uncertain, but he nods and takes a seat on the little couch behind his coffee table. Qrow’s eyes follow him, then flit to the table, and widen in surprise. He reaches down and picks up the feather Clover had left there that morning, turning it in his fingers. “You kept this?” he says softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover tilts his head, tossing an arm over the back of the couch. Part of him hopes Qrow will sit with him without encouragement. “Yeah,” he says, wondering at Qrow’s phrasing. “It’s from that bird I brought in last night. Poor thing looked like it’d been attacked.” He glances towards his window, still puzzling over it. “I guess I must’ve left my window open last night, because the bird was gone when I woke up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Qrow mutters, putting the feather back on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover looks back up at him in surprise. “Did I mention that before? Sorry, it’s been a long day—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Qrow interrupts. “I meant I know because…” he exhales, combs his hair back again. “Shit, you know about Salem, so I guess this won’t seem like a big deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Qrow—” Clover starts, mildly alarmed at Salem’s mention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t freak out,” Qrow says suddenly. His eyes hold a kind of vulnerability in that pretty vermillion, nervous and hesitant but somehow determined. “Promise me you won’t freak out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I—” Clover’s mouth hangs open for a moment. “I promise? Qrow, if something’s wrong…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing’s wrong,” Qrow insists, taking a few steps back. “Just…just don’t freak out. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover closes his mouth, then nods. Qrow hesitates visibly for a few more moments, then exhales and shifts his weight. And then, in a flurry of movement that Clover’s eyes can’t accurately follow, he changes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>vanishes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and leaves in his place a sleek, black bird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover’s out of his seat before his brain can process anything, eyes wide and mouth hanging open all over again. “Q-Qrow?” he manages, high pitched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bird caws at him, brilliant red eyes blinking with purpose. The feathers on the bird’s chest are still a little ruffled. It’s the same bird, the bird that’d fallen asleep on his shirts with his aura running through its body, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>bird, it’s— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another flutter of movement and the bird is gone, leaving behind a man this time instead of a feather. Suddenly the gray of those feathers is painfully familiar, it’s the same damn slivers of gray in Qrow’s hair, and that’s because Qrow is— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re freaking out,” Qrow says, clearly upset by this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not freaking out,” Clover manages, but his voice is still up an octave higher than it should be. “I’m fine. You just—when you said this wasn’t about your semblance—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s magic,” Qrow interrupts, reaching out hesitantly before he pauses and withdraws his hand, unsure of himself. “Ozpin gave it to me years ago. My uh…my twin can do it too. Clover, please sit down. You’re shaking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not shaking,” Clover insists, but he sits down anyway, almost short of breath in his shock. He runs a hand through his hair, eyes flitting over nothing while he tries to process it. “You can turn into a bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any bird? Or just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a crow,” Qrow says, then huffs, apparently finding some small measure of humor in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long bout of silence. Clover leans forward, elbows on his knees and his hands pressed together at his mouth like a prayer. “Holy shit,” he whispers finally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qrow hesitates again, then moves to sit down next to him. “Is it that surprising?” he asks. “With everything we know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I just…give me a second.” Clover rubs his hands over his face. Everything odd he’d noticed the night before is starting to make sense: the flicker of the bird’s shattered aura, the way it seemed to laugh at appropriate times, the way it’d never pecked at him once even when clearly in pain, the huge aura reservoir it’d had…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my gods,” Clover whispers, feeling his entire face turn scarlet, “You were the crow. You understood everything I said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qrow lets out a short, surprised laugh. “Yeah, I did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You heard me waxing poetic about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Qrow rubs the back of his neck, cheeks going pink. “I almost wondered if you knew, and were just teasing me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>know,” Clover says, absolutely mortified. He covers his mouth with both hands. “I called you beautiful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qrow laughs again, richly this time. “Yeah, you did. You meant that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think I lie to random animals that fly into my transports?” Clover says in defeat, leaning back on the couch and hiding the rest of his face behind his hands while he’s at it. “Shit. I’m so sorry—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t be!” Qrow interrupts, taking one of Clover’s wrists and pulling his hand down. “Clover, you saved my life. I’d been…alright, I hadn’t been on patrol, not officially. The city noise just…gets to me, sometimes. I like to go out flying on my own here and there. And I just happened to run into some Grimm while I was stretching for the fly back. I won, obviously, but one of them sliced me as it went down. I barely had enough strength to get myself back.” He pauses, then finishes with a little more severity, “If I hadn’t seen you down there, I probably wouldn’t have made it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover lifts his head from the back of the couch as he listens, embarrassment only slightly staved off at the thought of Qrow biting it and no one knowing where he’d disappeared to. “You couldn’t change back?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It takes energy,” Qrow explains. “I could barely keep myself in the air.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods, Qrow,” Clover exhales again, out of stress this time. “What if I hadn’t…” he trails off, frowning deeply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew you wouldn’t leave me,” Qrow murmurs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That brings heat back to Clover’s cheeks, shoulders hunching slightly. “I…” he starts, then looks away. Qrow, he can’t help noticing, still has a hold of his wrist. He tries again. “I’m glad you’re safe. And I didn’t mean to make things…awkward between us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “It doesn’t have to be awkward,” Qrow offers softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover looks up sharply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look,” Qrow says, and his fingers slide down Clover’s wrist to linger over his hand. “I told you this because I trust you, and because…I’ve been thinking about you a lot too. You’re smart and funny, and you’ve been kinder to me than anyone has in a long time.” His cheeks pinken. “And I don’t think it’s a secret that I’m attracted to you. Or so my nieces tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clover blinks, feeling too hot under his clothes. “Oh,” he says, because the idea that other people have noticed that Qrow’s into him is almost as flooring as the idea of Qrow being a shapeshifter. “Good. Uh…cool. I mean…I’m glad I didn’t make a fool of myself, I guess?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Qrow says, grinning, “You did a little bit. But it was cute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is not how I wanted to ask you out,” Clover tells him helplessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Qrow laughs quietly, then twines their fingers together. “Can I kiss you?” he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ballsy,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Clover thinks, stunned and appreciative. He nods, eyes falling to Qrow’s mouth as Qrow presses closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for taking care of me,” Qrow murmurs, then kisses the corner of Clover’s mouth once before laying one against his lips properly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always,” Clover breathes when they part, noses still brushing, and chases Qrow’s mouth once more.  </span>
</p>
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